The Hunger Games: Rewritten
by AbsentSilence
Summary: What if Katniss Everdeen didn't volunteer for Primrose? What if her older sister, Sage Everdeen did? Thrust into an unescapable arena of death, betrayal and misery, Sage finds herself in a torn struggle. A life filled with remorse and pain, or no life at all? -not a romance fiction!-
1. Chapter One: The Reaping

Awoken by a mighty scream, my weary grey orbs shot open, looking around the small room to find the source of the terrified noise. Katniss, my younger sister by a year, wasn't asleep beside me as she normally was, and I immediately went to the other side of the room, where I was sure the noise would have came from. My eyes landed on the sobbing Primrose, her pale skin looked sickly and her beautiful blonde locks clung to her damp face. She held onto Katniss with small arms as they embraced into a loving hug, Katniss whispering words of comfort to her in a soft, motherly manner.

I recalled it was Prim's first reaping, which was the probable source of the nightmares and screams. Swinging my legs off the scratchy bed, I walk over towards them as silently as I can muster, desperately trying not to alert them.

"Prim, are you okay?" I ask as I drew nearer, mentally scowling myself at the stupid question. Katniss' head shot up to look at me, her calm grey eyes now hardened and cold as she stared up at me.

"I've got to go, Prim," she said, turning her voice soothing as she looked at Prim, "but I'll be back before the reaping,"

Prim sniffed in her response, using her tattered top to wipe her swollen, red eyes. "Where are you going?" she questioned gently, though I think both me and Prim knew the answer.

"Out," replied Katniss, going into the other room to get changed, leaving me and Prim alone. I wasn't insulted that Katniss had ignored me, it was a common occurrence, but it did annoy me at times. We used to be close, Katniss and I. I used to be the protective older sister to both her and Prim, shielding them from the bullies at school, the true struggle of pure starvation and the monsters under the bed. Not anymore, after my dad died, Katniss grew up and no longer needed me.

I was only twelve, but I could still remember the scene perfectly, waiting for my father to return, only to find he was dead. I fell to the dusty floor in anguish, crying and sobbing with more pain than I thought was possible. Gale Hawthorne was there too, with his large family and widowed mother. That was the fateful day that both Gale and Katniss met, they understood each others pain. They were both strong, they grew up. I didn't. I became weak and agonized, filled with remorse. I couldn't function, knowing that my father had died and I didn't even say goodbye, his body too battered to find. I understood how my mother felt, one of the reasons why I don't blame her. I grew stronger eventually, but Katniss never forgave me for abandoning her and Prim in their dire time of need. Honestly, I never forgave myself either.

"Sage," the soft coo of Prim breaks me out of my thoughts, "I'm scared,"

"I know, Prim. Don't worry, you have both me and Katniss," I sit down next to her, stroking her back gently. "I would have loved to have two elder sisters when I was twelve," I wasn't lying, a few months after my father had died, it was my first reaping. I had no one and was absolutely terrified.

"But what if I get picked?" Prim cried out, the tears beginning to stream down her face once again, "I don't want to go, please!"

It broke my heart to see Prim like this, vulnerable and frightened, but I swallowed deeply before speaking, "Prim, don't worry, I'll protect you," I said, pausing a few minutes before adding, "so will Katniss,"

A few minutes passed in a serene silence, Prim's weeping had finally died down and she fell into a peaceful slumber, of which she needed. I sat on her bed for a moment, taking in her beautiful, fresh face as if it were the last time I would see her again, before rising and looking at my resting mother.

Her light blonde hair was sprawled over the sheets, her dull, lifeless blue eyes shut. Her face looked worn-down, as if she had seen far too much in her lifetime, but she doesn't look as beaten down. Though, she is still far from happy and free. She was better than before, always aware and ready when a sickly person comes to call, pleading for her help. I had always admired her healing skills, so much to the point I learned many things off her. I had learned to use snowcoat to help numb pain, I learnt that the katniss plant was edible, and I learnt that fern leaves helped ease minor stings. This is one way of how I became closer to my mother than Katniss, through the magical art of healing. Herbs healed a lot more than just physical wounds.

I watched as my mother began to stir, grumbling something before propping herself up on one elbow, blinking her blue orbs. She looked at me, and for the first time, I saw how truly upset she was on reaping days. My mother looked positively broken. Perhaps even beyond repair.

"Oh, Sage," she murmured, her azure eyes glossy. I barely spoke as I walked over to her, giving her a large, loving embrace.  
"I love you," I spoke barely above a whisper, but passion filled my words. I wasn't as close to mother as Prim was, but we understood each other. A connection. We both dealt with pain in the same way: block everything and everyone out.

"I love you too," she replied, both of us locked in a hug, silence filling the tranquil air around us.

I didn't know how long we sat there for, I didn't feel the need to count, but Katniss' arrival suggested that it had been a long time. I slowly and reluctantly got up out of mother's embrace, standing up over Prim's bed as Katniss closed the door behind her with a gentle thud.

"Prim, Katniss is here," I told her, watching her face light up in joy and she got up out of bed. Mother said something to Prim though, and she raced into the bathroom, her reaping outfit grasped in her delicate hands. I nodded to mother, not wanting to cry as Katniss came in. I didn't want to give her another reason to dislike me even more, this included showing weakness. I looked at the reaping dress that my mother had placed on my bed moments ago, aware of her presence behind me.

"I wore it when I was seventeen," she told me, walking away to place something out for Katniss. I barely acknowledged this fact, looking at the dress. It was a light, lime green and fell just below my knees, and though it was old, it still looked suitable. I gently picked it up in fear of ripping the precious material, making my way into the next room where I quickly stripped off my flimsy sleeping clothes and stepped into the dress. The cracked mirror in the room's corner allowed me to examine myself, looking myself at full length.

A typical, seventeen year old Seam girl looked back. She was small in stature and very malnourished with straight long brown hair, grey eyes and olive skin. I looked very much like my father and Katniss, and we could possibly be mistaken for twins. But our personality would probably set us apart, while we did indeed have some very similar traits, the unsimilar ones stood out clearly. Such as Katniss' bow and arrow skill, unmatched by anyone. I could handle a bow and arrow, but not to the degree of even Gale, who wasn't a shade on Katniss. Slow moving targets I could hit, perhaps even a large, lumbering animal but I could never hit a flying bird of a tiny size or a swift squirrel right in the eye with an arrow. I was much better at healing and recognizing plants, such as poisonous ones and edible ones. Though, if one of us were to be reaped for the Games, Katniss would definitely stand a chance whereas I would not.

"Sage, are you finished yet?" asks a voice I recognize as my mother from outside the door.

"Yes, coming," I quickly reply, not bothering to check my appearance once more as I make my way out of the door and to my mother. Mother wore a simple white dress, one that I remember she used every year for a while now. Katniss stood with Prim, tucking her white shirt in with a happy smile. Or as happy as you could be on the reaping day.

"Come on," murmured mother, ignoring Katniss' scowl as she made her way through the door, Prim clinging onto her hand. "Let's go, Sage,"

I hated how broken she was as Katniss barged by, Katniss didn't even know how much she affected mother. I wanted to shout, to scream at Katniss but no words could come out. I didn't dare tell anyone, except possibly mother.

"Calm down," she calmed me as we made our way through the thick crowd of people, me gripping her hand tightly. I nodded stiffly, not wanting to cause trouble on this horrid day. We had soon reached the bored peacekeepers and my mother departed, leaving me in line with the other children. Many winced as the peacekeepers pricked their sensitive fingers, but I didn't. My perceptive grey orbs couldn't look away from the horror on everyone's faces. The sooty coal dust didn't hide the fear in our eyes, the pain in our hearts. I barely noticed when the peacekeeper pricked my finger, leaving a numbing sensation as they pushed my finger down on a piece of paper. I looked down at the paper, my eyes emotionless and cold.

_Sage Everdeen._

_Seventeen years old._

I thought of the few extra slips I had entered, the one slip for Prim and the many for Katniss. I wasn't fair, I wanted to help my family. I didn't want to be weak and rely upon Katniss, but I had no choice. The tesserae I had taken out wasn't enough, I had thirty-one slips in the reaping bowl. Most of them I had put in myself: I had sealed my own fate.

Broken out of my trance by a small push and yell of annoyance from the sighing peacekeeper, I started to walk towards the other seventeen year old girls. Many of them I knew from school, though I wasn't truly friends with anyone of them, really just friendly acquaintances. They would care little if I were reaped, just as I them. I took my place next to two merchant girls, who looked practically terrified at the thought of being reaped. Many others looked the same, including me.

After finding Katniss and Gale mouthing words to each other, I began looking for little Prim. My perceptive eyes scanned the twelve year old girls section, ignoring the silence that engulfed the centre like a cocoon.

"Welcome, welcome," said a cheery voice, forcibly drawing my search. I sighed and looked up to see Effie Trinket, our District escort, standing on the wooden stage in a pale pink outfit. "To the Seventy-fourth Hunger Games,"

Effie paused, as if expecting an applause but when none arose, she continued. "Now, before we begin, we must watch a message that comes all the way from the Capitol," On cue, the deep voice of the video began playing, causing a shuffle of children as many ignored it, myself included. Instead, I continued looking for Prim, finally finding her stand between two Seam girls. I tried to get a good look at her face, but because I only saw the back of her, I never got to see how Prim was. I wanted to go over there, to comfort Prim but I knew I couldn't. Barely containing myself, I squeezed my eyes shut and listened to the droning video like I had for the past five years.

"I just love that," squealed Effie, mouthing the final words of the video. "Now, it's time to choose the female tribute who shall represent District Twelve,"

Effie bounced over to the clear reaping bowls, sticking a manicured hand in and twirling it around before selecting an unlucky slip. Walking back at a slow pace, I could practically hear the suspense building, people worrying for their families and their lives. I felt my palms sweat, my breathing somewhat rapid as Effie held the slip up to the dim sun and read it out. It was then that my world came crumbling down.

"Primrose Everdeen,"


	2. Chapter Two: I Volunteer

My breathing hitched: my heart stopped. I couldn't breath as my body tensed. I stared at Effie in disbelief: Primrose Everdeen. It couldn't be, not Prim. Once. Her name was in there once: one out of thousands.

Primrose Everdeen. Primrose Everdeen. Primrose Everdeen.

My brain chanted, torturing me endlessly until it hit me: "Prim!"

I could hardly contain my scream, but I noticed someone screamed it alongside me: Katniss. I didn't care as I pushed through the crowd to see Prim's terrified face. She began walking up, trembling violently.

"Prim! Prim, no!" I screeched, racing towards Prim before being restrained by the peacekeepers. Katniss wasn't far from me and she was being held back by the peacekeepers to, her eyes wide like a caught feral animal.

"Stop! Prim!" I struggled against the peacekeeper's strong grip but I was not match for a healthy, trained man. "Wait! Stop! I volunteer!"

The grip on me became weaker considerably and I raced towards Prim, hugging her tightly.

"I volunteer as tribute," I said, thankful for my voice not cracking, despite how broken and scared I was.

"No!" I heard Katniss' scream echo throughout the clearing, she had managed to escape the peacekeeper and ran towards Prim and me, hugging us greatly.

"Katniss, take Prim away," I barely contained my tears as I spoke, Katniss seemed to notice this and for the first time in a very long time, she listened. Prim screamed loudly, crying out my name but I barely listened. I straightened out my posture and rendered my face emotionless as I walked up the stage. It was hard to keep my chin up high when I just wanted to hide but I managed.

"Well, District Twelve's very first volunteer!" cried Effie in excitement, helping me up as I stood the the right side of her. "What's your name?"

"Sage Everdeen," I stated, my voice barely above a whisper and I almost questioned how Effie had heard it as she nodded.

"Ah, I'll bet my hat that those two girls were your sisters, am I right?"

"Yes," I said, this time stronger and unwavering yet still quiet. Effie seemed oblivious to my pain and smiled widely before walking over to select the unlucky boy tribute. After selecting a slip, Effie held it up to the light and read it out: "Flint Bergam!"

As the crowd parted, I felt sympathy for the poor soul whom had to compete in the Hunger Games alongside me, but once I saw Flint, it immediately evaporated. A six foot figure made their way through the crowd, they had large muscles, olive skin and coal dust covered their hands. Flint's grey orbs were emotionless as he made his way up towards me, taking his place next to Effie.

"Shake hands, you two," encouraged Effie, looking at us both. I turned to Flint, trying to hide the desperation and fear in my eyes. I, only being 5'6, was towered by Flint and his large, muscular build. It seemed like a mistake, shaking hands with the person who will have to die for you to win. But, as Flint extended his hand for me to shake, I shook it back. I don't know if I was happy or not to see there was no emotion in Flint's eyes as he shook my hand.

"Here are the lucky tributes who will represent District Twelve in the Seventy-fourth Annual Hunger Games!" cheered Effie, looking out at the vast crowd of empty people, seemingly oblivious to my hesitation.

No one clapped.

Not a single person.

Instead, one by one, people began bringing the three middle fingers on their left hand to their lips and raising it in the air. It means thanks and admiration: it was our way of saying good-bye to some you loved.

I could barely comprehend the situation before I was ushered off the stage and into the visiting room, a rather small room with a single bed. I sat down in shock, my head in my sweating hands as I thought, waiting for Prim, mother and Katniss.

I didn't even wait a few minutes before a sobbing Prim, a weeping mother and an emotionless Katniss walked through the door. Prim immediately swept me into a hug, clutching the soft fabric of my reaping dress as she did.

"I-I'm s-sorry! I d-don't want you to go!" Prim managed out through the waterfall of tears. "I don't want money or food, I just want you back!"

I felt tears spring to my eyes at Prim's state, but she quickly let go as mother made her way towards me, now somewhat composed with glistening eyes.

"I'm sorry," she said, holding me by the shoulders, "I should have been there for you,"

I gave her a soft smile, the only thing I could manage as she walked away.

"Two minutes left!" I heard the rude peacekeeper say, banging on the rickety door with his fist. I nodded and looked at the final family member I had yet to talk to: Katniss. She was hugging Prim but released her as mother went over and embraced Prim. Katniss walked over to me, her eyes emotionless and they suddenly reminded me of Flint and that scared me. If Katniss noticed, she said nothing.

In fact, Katniss didn't say anything for a while, just looking at me. I was unnerved by her actions, she barely looked or communicated with me before and now she was staring at me; it seemed like an eternity before she spoke.

"Thank you," her voice was barely above a quiet whisper, but I could hear the sincerity behind her words. I thought she was going to pull me into a comforting hug as she raised her arms, but then she awkwardly patted me on the shoulder for a few moments. "I mean it, thank you,"

I gave her a smile - or whatever kind gesture I could muster - and watched as she began walking over to Prim, who was being comforted by mother.

"Time's up!" Snapped a peacekeeper who I recognized from before, opening the door and guiding the protesting Prim, mother and Katniss out.

"I'm sorry! I love you, Sage!" I heard Prim scream, and I desperately wanted to open the door and return to my family. As hesitant as we were, I've only just realized how much I'm going to miss them. No kind gestures or sympathy from the lovely Prim, no weak smile from mother as she tried to comfort me. I'd even miss the glares Katniss sent my way, despite the venom in them.

I sighed, a wisp of air escaping between my lips, sitting on the bed. I thought for a moment, waiting for it all to sink in.

I was going to die.

No matter who fast I can run, how many times I hide, I can never beat the Careers. Even if they were weak and young - an extremely rare possibility - I could never beat them due to my malnourished state. The only District that is alike mine is District 11; we're always one of the first to die. It's not our fault, people just don't like to see people with morals. The Capitol prefers the Careers, deadly and viscous, tributes who put on 'a good show'.

The click of the door drove me out of my angry rant, surprised I looked up to see a tall, olive-skinned boy with dark hair.

"Gale?" I questioned, looking at him in a strange manner. Why would Gale visit me? We'd never been close, the odd tolerance of each other, and I couldn't find a reason of why he would be here.

"Look, just listen," Gale says, though I'm almost certain he's a little bit annoyed. Instead of snapping back, like I usually do, I nod my head and listen to him. After all, if he hunts in the forest with Katniss he's bound to know something valuable. Hopefully.

"You need to get a bow if you can, but don't make it a priority: you're not that good," I just resisted the temptation to smack him upside the head for that comment. Just. I wasn't that bad.

"Just stay hidden, let them kill each other off until the final few. Don't go into conflict," Gale continued. I wanted to question him about fighting, about killing people. I wasn't sure if I wanted to kill people, even if it was for my survival. I mean, if I was defending myself...

"Time's up!" The peacekeeper yelled again, though I'm sure I barely got two minutes with Gale. Gale barely acknowledged the peacekeeper, even as he entered the room.

"Hey, good luck," said Gale, it was somewhat awkward but I appreciated the gesture. "And may the odds be ever in your favor,"

I smiled at Gale as he was escorted out the room, I surely hope the odds are in my favor. They haven't been too good to be so far.

"Come on, let's go," the gruff peacekeeper snarled, grabbing my upper arm and escorting -or rather, dragging- me towards the train, letting go once we came in view of cheering people and blinding flashes.

"What? What are you all doing?" I spluttered out, eyeing them all in curiosity. Why are they taking photos of me? Hang on, why are they all here anyway? In District 12? It's not exactly a secret that we're the least desired District ever.

"They're taking photos, just smirk or ignore them," explained Flint, though he showed tinges of annoyance. I suppose I would be annoyed to; having to constantly explain something to someone you're supposed to kill.

That thought drove me into an unhappy state, meaning I no longer held the confident smirk I had tried so hard to get. So instead, I tried to make my face void of any emotion, one of the things I believe I was rather good at. I ignored the calls of reporters, struggling to not yell at them all or scream in anger as they tried to invade my personal space. Honestly, I knew they were strange but this was ridiculous. I mean, would anyone remember the brave, defiant tributes from District 12 when we died? Ripped apart from some dreadful mutt, desperate tribute or a savage Career? I think not.

"Oh, come along now!" Squealed Effie, her wig bobbing up and down as she tottered into the train. "Let's go in and you can finally met Haymitch,"

Flint and me exchanged a sideways glance, we both knew Haymitch was an eager drinker and stood no chance of even remembering our names, let alone helping us survive. Still, neither of us said anything as we hobbled into the magnificent train and followed a happy Effie, but I couldn't help but feel dread rising in the back of my throat: I doubt even our District, our family and friends, thought we were going to survive.

And I agreed with them: I was going to die.


	3. Chapter Three: Haymitch Abernathy

"Oh, is this what they give me this year?"

Haymitch's arrogant voice rings out in the train room, I turn from my prodding of a particularly expensive crystal flower vase to see the slouching figure of our mentor. A middle-aged man stands in front of me, gripping a bottle of unknown liquid -that I suspect is liquor- in his hands, his grey eyes alight but clouded. Ladies and gentlemen, Haymitch Abernathy.

I'm taken aback by his words and see Flint almost baring his teeth like a rapid dog who's bone has just been stolen from right under his sensitive nose.

"Excuse me?" He snaps, almost daring the tipsy Haymitch to retort.

"Are you deaf, boy?" Asks Haymitch, and I don't know whether Haymitch actually believes this or not. There's no telling with him. "That'll me a bad thing for the arena,"

"I'm not deaf," snarled Flint, his fingers digging into the plush chair he sat on. For a moment, I thought Effie was going to berate his for his 'lack of manners', but she seemed to decide against this and take a seat next to me. I flashed her a sweet smile, if I remember correctly, Effie does actually have some influence of Haymitch and sponsors. I mean, I'm sure even the intoxicated Haymitch couldn't hide from Effie's nagging ways forever.

"Good then, you won't die falling off the train," says Haymitch, jerking the top of another bottle of alcohol, throwing the other aside. It lander with a clatter, startling Effie, and a red-head quickly ran and gathered it up.

Flint, on the other hand, looked positively fuming. I thought he was going to punch Haymitch right there, but I hoped he didn't. If Haymitch disliked him, Flint wouldn't stand a chance. After being a mentor for so long, I would gather that Haymitch is friends or at least acquaintances with other mentors. If Haymitch told them all Flint's weaknesses, the other tributes could exploit them, causing Flint much difficulty.

This is why I haven't snapped at Haymitch yet, alongside the fact that reality hasn't quick sunk in. I mean, my instinct is screaming at me that I'm going to die and that I should feel sad or live life to its fullest but I can't. I just don't believe it yet, but it will soon kick in.

"I think I can survive the train," Flint speaks slowly, as if trying to hold himself back. "How about you help us with surviving the arena?"

"Why should I?" Haymitch questions, plopping himself on the chair opposite me, sprawling out in a careless manner. "You're going to die anyway,"

I suddenly feel a pang of sympathy for Haymitch, no wonder he's always drinking. If I had to watch my District send two unwilling tributes into the Games to die every year for over ten years, I would probably would be mentally challenged; much more broken than Haymitch. I then admire him, feeling sorry for him but I know he probably wouldn't like the pity. Not a lot of people do.

Flint seems to stop himself too, opening his mouth to speak and then deciding against it. He appears to be having a mental debate about the situation, unreadable expressions spreading over his olive face.

"We might not," I input softly, not wanting to cause a stir. As I speak, I'm happy to see that I don't sound weak nor does my voice waver. I know the odds aren't in our favor -are they in anyone's?- but I live on false hope anyway. "The odds are unpredictable. Victors who seemed to have no skills won, look at Johanna Mason,"

I remember the popular victor, Johanna Mason as I speak her name. She tricked the tributes like a sly fox, appearing like a weak little girl who stood no chance. It was in the final few that I had begun to wonder what tricks she had up her sleeve, how she had survived this far, but as soon as she grabbed that axe, I suddenly knew. Johanna was incredibly dangerous with the axe, never missing a shot and always killing the ones she wanted to. I was amazed and somewhat scared, is everyone in District 7 like this? Probably wielding an axe before they could walk? I made a mental note to take notice of the District 7 tributes alongside the Careers.

"Yeah," interjected Flint, nodding. "You've never met us, we might have some skills,"

"You've never met me either," slurred Haymitch and I noticed that he seemed to have taken a lot of drinks of the alcohol in his hand. "I might know what I'm doing,"

"We've never met you before," I began, ignoring my yelling conscience, "but I've stepped over you before,"

As soon as I had said that, Haymitch laughed. It was a loud booming laughter and I didn't think he was quite sober enough to know the insult within in my comment. Or perhaps he didn't care.

"Right, then, what skills do you have if your so sure of yourselves?" Questioned Haymitch, taking another massive gulp of his drink.

"I'm strong and I can wrestle fairly good," Flint said, and I recalled seeing him wrestle once. He came third in the competition, right behind Peeta and Bannock Mellark, the baker's sons. I knew Flint was much more than strong and probably had a lot more skills than me, which made me feel uneasy. Perhaps if I don't answer the question I'll appear as if I have the upper-hand.

"What about you?" Haymitch turned his attention to me, "What can you do?"

I looked over at Flint, who was staring at me with his signature unreadable expression but I saw curiosity in his dangerous Seam grey eyes. I didn't know what to do, on one hand, Flint hadn't shown any signs of trying to gather vulnerable information about me but he had been somewhat looking out for himself, something I had been doing myself.

"I can recognize some plants and I guess I'm okay at healing..." I trailed off, barely giving a description that would be considered vague. Haymitch noticed my hesitation, but thankfully didn't seem to mention anything.

"Just some? Now isn't the time to be modest," Haymitch told me, and for a moment I thought he was going to force the answer out of me. Instead, he merely shrugged, muttering something like 'not my problem'.

I was glad at the lack of response but I could see Flint's curious yet hardened gaze. I wonder if he knew my reluctance was because of him. With his demeanor, I sincerely hoped he didn't catch onto that, although, he probably did.

"Now, let's watch the other reapings, shall we?" Effie asked, but by the tone in her voice I suspected there was no way to reply other than accepting, not that I minded. I suppose I was supposed to get the competition down and research them, but I am sure I won't find much just from their reaping but it's amazing how a person can look when they are frightened. People react in different ways and perhaps I can pinpoint a weakness in amongst their exteriors. I smiled slightly as I thought of this plan, proud to say I am already thinking like Katniss. Both her and Gale would be proud.

"Sure," Flint is the only one who replies to Effie and we all make our way to the charming sofa and Effie switches the reapings on. I feel my nerves building up as Caesar Flickerman and Claudius Templesmith announce that it is now time to see District One's reaping.

District One is very much different from District Twelve, and is a lot more polished, though I suspect that is because of the trailing coal dust in District Twelve. The citizens are not gloomy like they were in District Twelve and I even see some whoop in joy, their posh, expensive clothes flawless. The District escort called out a girl's name and before the camera could even switch towards the reaped girl, another volunteered.

The volunteer, unlike me, obviously volunteered for the same reason that every other Career did: to win glory. She had flowing blonde hair, a tall stature and dazzling emerald eyes. I immediately know that her angle would be her looks, and she would definitely flaunt them. The boy tribute is Marvel, also a volunteer, and he had sandy blonde hair, is very tall and is rather skinny for a Career tribute, though I'm not going to rule him out just yet. That determined glint in his eyes suggests that he knows what he's doing.

The screen then switches to District Two who cheer much louder than District One did, and the District escort is unsurprised with the two volunteers. The first volunteer was a brawny, healthy fifteen year old called Clove. I was surprised at her height, which was very small, but that confident smirk told me that she was deadly. However, I didn't even think twice about calling the District Two boy dangerous.

Cato, the male tribute, was very muscular, tall and seemingly strong. He easily towered the massive Flint and I couldn't help but notice his good-looks, no matter how hard I tried. I shook of that feeling though, knowing that in a few days I would be fighting this brute. And I will surely lose.

The rest of the reapings are rather uneventful and I only take note of a few people. There is a girl from Five who looked elusive and very much like a fox, I remember her name is Finch or something similar. Her intelligence may cause a problem to arise, the Games aren't always just about killing. There was a crippled boy from Ten who I only took note of because I felt pity for him, not because I thought he was a threat. But the main tribute who wasn't from the Careers that I was threatened by was the boy from Eleven. He was built like an ox with dark skin and bulging muscles. To be honest, I think he was stronger and larger than Cato, though I suspect Cato may win that battle from his experience but Thresh, the boy's name, could probably hold his own long enough to flee. Yet, most hauntingly, there was a sweet eleven year old reaped called Rue, and when the District escort asked for volunteers, silence followed.

And then District Twelve's reaping came on, but I excused myself. I didn't want to see the reaping all over again in fear of weeping, and I didn't want to show my weakness to Flint, no matter how kind he had been to me, Flint was still the enemy. A rather strong, powerful enemy.

It took me a while to find my room, but after asking a pretty redheaded girl where it was, she quickly directed me to a charming room. I pondered on why she didn't speak to me, but then I realized she was probably a servant of some sort. She would have probably been punished for talking. I felt sorry for her, but the sympathy soon died down to a flickering sadness as I thought about my own fate once more. I knew I should have said my proper goodbyes to Katniss, Prim and mother before I had went. I should have told Katniss how much I admired her, Prim how much I loved her and how much I adored her innocence, but most importantly, I should have told my mother I understand. That it wasn't her fault. None of it is.

Dismissing these dreary thoughts, I slipped out of my reaping clothes and into some familiar cotton sleeping clothes, ignoring the purple silk ones. I had no problem scarfing food down like a starving animal - which I'm sure Effie thought I was - but I disliked the luxury items that came along with the food. I then snuggled up against the plush covers of the very comfortable bed, falling into a deep, peaceful slumber that was, surprisingly, void of nightmares.


	4. Chapter Four: The Capitol

"Up, up up, it's a big, big day!"

Effie's cheerful, if somewhat annoying, voice rang out through the wooden door, causing a groan to slip between my dry lips. I turned over and faced the wall, trying to get back to the pleasant rest; a good rest that I rarely had. I almost thought I had succeeded for a fleeting moment but then another loud array of knocks on my door told me that Effie had surely won this battle.

With a loud, overdramatic groan, I swung my legs of the comfortable bed and groggily stumbled over towards the wardrobe, shaking my head at the odd clothes before settling with my reaping dress. I was thankful that it wasn't too crumbled and I began braiding my dark hair, sighing in annoyance as it wasn't a shade on the expert level my mother did it at. Still, the braid wasn't too bad and I hoped Effie - and the Capitol, I suppose - deemed it acceptable.

Rubbing my eyes slightly, I stepped over to my door and opened it up, following the familiar route of the train until I reached the cab where Effie, Flint and Haymitch were. Opening the door reluctantly, I saw that Flint and Haymitch appeared to be arguing again. Well, Haymitch was looked totally uninterested while Flint was fuming, a thing I learned he did often. Perhaps his demise will be because of his short, snappy temper. Maybe he'll anger the strong boy from Two, Cato. The strong, attractive boy called Cato.

Shaking my head, I mentally scowled myself and took a place opposite Haymitch, eyeing the posh table that appeared to be made out of a dark wood of some sort. If Katniss, or Gale, were here, I think they would have known what type of wood it was. If, of course, it resides in the forest, which it hopefully does.

"Well, who do you look out for then?" Haymitch's snarky voice rang out in the cab car, drawing Effie's attention while she expertly applied her colourful makeup. "Who do you think's a threat?"

This question appeared to be aimed at Flint, and I found myself looking at him. I knew the answer, I thought I did anyway, but I wanted to see what Flint was going to say. Perhaps he caught up on some tributes' weaknesses that I missed.

"The Careers, obviously," Flint began, looking as if he were counting in his head. "And the boy from Eleven,"

Haymitch nodded his head, turning to me. "What about you, sweetheart?"

"Careers, Thresh, the girl from Five, and possibly the two from Seven," I reply, ignoring Flint's confused look at I mention the tributes from Seven. I decide to elaborate it for him, really because he was kind enough to me and helping him this one time may repay the debt. Katniss always told me never to be indebted to someone. "Because their industry is lumber, meaning they have probably used axes for a while now,"

Flint nods slowly in understanding, seemingly taking a mental note in his head. I shoot him a small smile and turn to Haymitch, waiting for his comment. Instead, Haymitch doesn't say anything and I frown deeply at him. Over the night, I had slowly begun to realize that Haymitch was probably my own means of support once I got into that stupid arena and I needed him sober for me to survive. Or at least in the right mind to know when I need something.

"Aren't you going to say something? You know, mentor us... giving up advice and stuff..." I trail off, hoping Haymitch is going to finish my sentence with some handy advice. He doesn't, taking a sip from his precious alcohol, but he does open his mouth to talk after that sip.

"Here's some advice; stay alive!" Haymitch bursts out in laughter, seemingly thinking that is the funniest thing someone could have said. Truthfully, I would have probably thought it was funny if he didn't just joke about my life. But Flint looks furious once more, and I start to wonder if it's just Haymitch that aggravates him.

"Yeah, really funny, Haymitch," Flint snarls, suddenly jerking forwards and knocking the crystal glass out of Haymitch's hand. "Only not to us,"

With a glare, Haymitch knocks Flint away with his fist, and I'm surprised to see that Flint stagers back a bit. Haymitch must really pack a punch, and then I remember that Haymitch once won the Games. A Quarter-Quell, no less, and probably has enough strength to knock Flint out cold if he tried hard enough. Perhaps even when he was tipsy. Which I believe he was.

I just watched the scene elope in front of me, blinking. If Prim, or perhaps Katniss, had been the one who had gotten hit by Haymitch - though it will never happen -, I would have definitely stood up for them. But this was Flint, and I didn't think Flint would appreciate the help. In fact, I don't even think Flint would need the help, and this worried me greatly.

The sound of Haymitch plopping back on his dark-wood chair awoke me from my almost-panic attack, drawing my attention to him as he watched Flint glower at him.

"Oh, so they gave me a fighter this year," said Haymitch, looking at Flint thoughtfully. I ignored the singular use of 'fighter', but secretly hoped Haymitch would notice me as well. Or at least let me be there when he gives advice to Flint or helps him, if Haymitch is going to help him anyway.

"I'll tell you what," began Haymitch, smirking slightly, "if you leave me alone - which means no annoying me, Flint! I promise I will stay sober enough to help you... and you as well, sweetheart,"

I tried not to look as relieved as I felt, but I think Haymitch picked up on my gratitude, though he was a victor. He was practically trained for noticing these types of things, I suppose he wouldn't have survived without his observant nature. Either that or I had let my guard down while the Capitol people were not in view. Unfortunately, I believe it was the latter.

"Right, when we arrive at the Captiol, just let your stylists do what they want," ordered Haymitch, taking a rather large gulp of his alcohol, and I assumed that was the last piece of advice we were both going to get. Haymitch would probably be too drunk to help us even more, though I am grateful for this snippet of advice. Even if it is small. Every little bit helps, or so I've heard.

"Why? What are they going to do?" Warily asked Flint, eyeing Haymitch as if he held a secret Flint needed to know. I was now curious, I hadn't thought about what they were going to do to us, I'd always assumed they just stick tributes into ridiculous costumes and sent them into the chariots. Perhaps put a bit of funky makeup on some tributes; I'm sure the Capitol stylists cannot resist the temptation of a human test subject.

Haymitch didn't reply, instead, he merely took another long gulp out of his alcohol and plastered a large smirk on his face. Obviously, Flint got annoyed by this by never said anything, merely choosing to glower at Haymitch. Of course, this just made Haymitch much more smug, his smirk widening.

"Oh! Oh, look! We have arrived at the Capitol," Effie's voice echoed throughout the room, alerting me of her long-forgotten presence. I looked at her and saw her signaling towards the large window at the side of the train, glancing out at it, I see that we must be traveling through a tunnel of some sort because blackness engulfs the window.

A few moments later, the Capitol arrives clear in view. And, as much as it pains me to say this, the Capitol looked magnificent. If one could look past the residents that stay here, the Capitol could even be called beautiful. There was gleaming buildings, pristine and polished, free from dirt or flaws. Extremely evolved technology seemed to be used in everyday use, and the floor was rid of the coal dust that is common to District Twelve. As I said before, the Capitol could be considered beautiful if the residents were from the Districts.

"Isn't it just amazing?" Squealed Effie, looking around for approval, not even bothering to notice Flint's frowning face. She probably thought this was just his normal look, and to be honest, I was starting to think the same thing as she.

I barely comprehended the fact I had now gotten out of my seat, and was edging towards the window. I was so curious about the Capitol, curious about the history behind it. Curious about everything. And then, suddenly a large flock of colourful people erupted through the window, screaming and waving.

I looked at them, bemused by their excited expressions and waving hands. What were they doing, are they waving towards me and Flint? After a hesitant wave back, I soon learned that they were, either that or someone saw something even more interesting, causing the others to cheer even louder. A small smile crept on my face, and I forgot for a moment that these people may just be sending me to my death. Actually, I thought that these people could possibly be my life-line, the last help I could ever get in that arena. Sponsors have saved many victors' lives, and I wasn't about to waste my chance now.

I placed an even bigger smile on my face, waving much more and even looking directly at some while I waved. It was hard at first, and my cheeks began hurting, but I soon got into a rhythm of waving and smiling. I supposed this was going to get me sponsors, so I looked over at the emotionless Flint and beckoned him over. He merely ignored me, staring at me with a hard gaze, so I turned my back to him and continued waving towards the Capitol people. It wasn't my fault when Flint is in the arena, starving or freezing, and he has no sponsors because he didn't even attempt to get some. I certainly wasn't going to end up with that fate, or at least I was going to try not to.

Eventually, I felt the train slow down and I was almost grateful that I had arrived at the Capitol. My cheeks hurt even more than before and my arm was becoming to go stiff, though I then remembered that the closer I came to the Capitol, the closer I am to my fight for survival. I refuse to say death, merely because I am not going to die too soon. After seeing those cheering Capitol citizens, I have decided that I may not die. I may actually win, I stand a chance. A small chance, but perhaps the odds will now be kind to me. They certainly are indebted to me.

As we were all escorted off the train, I barely noticed the looks I received. Haymitch looked smug, and nodded somewhat to me and I assumed this was because I had done the right thing, securing me at least one sponsor. Hopefully more, though my expectations aren't too high. Effie positively beamed at me, her eyes alight as she looked at me. I suppose she thought I was polite, politer than most people from District Twelve anyway.

But Flint looked completely different. I had only caught a glance, but even from that tiny look, I could see that Flint's gaze was even more hardened, emotionless and unreadable. Alongside this, I saw that his gaze was cold, almost wary of me. I had received many hateful glares of Katniss over the years -though they had ceased and merely fell down to disliked gazes-, and Flint's suspicious expression reminded me so much of her. In fact, so much so that I felt somewhat uncomfortable, I wondered if this was the sort of expression I had held while talking to Flint. Then I decided against it; I wasn't that aggravated or suspicious.

This look soon became a glare and it followed me all the way through the Capitol's buildings, only stopping when I entered a completely different room from Flint. But even then, I was still scared.


End file.
